


'Neath the Knights

by KestrelShrike



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Elvhen, Emerald Graves, F/M, Fenxshiral, NSFW, Project Elvhen, Sex, Smut, Will they ever not fuck with the corpse of something large nearby, the world may never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:23:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3983098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelShrike/pseuds/KestrelShrike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Frightened Kiss, A Promise’ from geeky-jez‘s Valentine’s Day meme. All elvhen is courtesy of fenxshiral ‘s Project Elvhen. I’m so pleased he’s written so much NSFW text for me to work with. One day I’ll fit it in less awkwardly. Very NSFW. I'm still fiddling with it, but I'm trying to resist making any further changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Neath the Knights

Perhaps time moved on a different scale when you were an immortal, but Shiral had a mayfly’s life, over too soon. Beneath the shadow of the Emerald Knights, she sought Abelas, hesitance gone. 

Their lips met in the sanctity of this place that should have belonged to their people, that should have bridged the gap between the elvhen and their modern descendents. Instead, only these statues remained, their significance lost to so many. Together, they would restore it, but not now. Now they rested, their bodies weary from the battles that had cleared the grass, staining it red. There had been giants here. Now even the cautious halla were returning, their liquid eyes taking in the two elves and dismissing them. 

Even as their lips met, Abelas pulled away, their connection lasting only seconds. There was something in his eyes Shiral found difficult to comprehend. Was that fear? Pupils dilated, he held back. There was so much of him that he still held back, that she strongly suspected he always would.

“You will leave me. My only companion in eternity is dust and loneliness.” His voice was rough. They had never discussed his lifespan before; it had not been relevant, or they had not wanted to hear it spoken aloud. That did not mean they both did not think of it; the closer they became, the more it clouded their minds, made every touch and interaction all the more significant. 

“So you’ll live in fear and anticipation of being lonely? You only create your own loneliness from that.” She could not help her anger; this was not what she intended. Andruil’s barbed arrows were sharp on her brow. 

“Please.” Her voice softened. Shiral, who was hard edges and a sharp tongue, could not be cruel with Abelas. Was that love? “Let us have just a moment, free of the past. A moment where we are simply ourselves.” The resolution in his eyes were faltering, his hands reaching to take her own and pull her closer even as his lips shaped a denial. 

“I will never be free of the past.” Yet again their lips met, her body pressed against his with an insistence that was impossible to ignore. Even as he spoke, he drew her down on top of him, the grass thick enough to provide a cushion against his broad back. 

“You will never be free of me,” Shiral retorted. “I am a burr in your hair where you cannot reach. We do not know what Corypheus’ mark has done to my lifespan, but I promise you, I will stay. You need not find your new name alone. I will help you in your new purpose.” She would not be it, but she would be the voice he needed to hear in the darkness of the night, when memories crept over him and threatened to overtake everything he had built. He knew this, even as she knew it. Her weight on top of him was reassuring. It had grown familiar. It was strange that he would comfort in one he had once disdained, but who was he to question the will of the Gods? They had long since proved their decisions and whims to be beyond even his ken.

“We speak too much in Common now.” His voice was a growl. She noticed the subject change but humored him, allowing it to happen, even as she allowed him to nuzzle into her neck, teeth nipping at the white flesh of her throat. It was not only her inked arrows that were sharp.

“Garas, aman na’mis,” she retorted in his ear, voice low but insistent. Come to me, I shall sheathe your blade. “Show me that your bladework is worthy of the gift I gave you.” This spot was significant to them. Here, Shiral had gifted Abelas with Evanura, the blade of the Silver Knight. Here, he had begun his journey towards truly living again. 

They were not gentle today. There was too much raw emotion in both of them. Their blood still sang with the lust of slaying giants. Her shirt tore as his hands lifted it off her, her nails digging into his skin deep enough to draw blood that followed the spreading branches of Mythal’s vallaslin on his back. 

“Juveran na su tarasyl.” I will take you to the sky, Abelas told her. The transgression in his statement sent a shiver down his spine. It felt sacrilegious, disrespectful to Mythal, so why did it thrill him so to say it? “Isalan dera na aron tuelan.” I will touch you like a goddess. He would never touch Mythal this way. His worship of Shiral was entirely different. 

“Is this what you did at the Temple?” Blinded by lust, he did not mind her teasing, did not immediately jump to the defensive. He silenced her as only he knew how, thrusting himself into her deeply, hard enough so that she gasped and tightened her grip on him once more, pressing against him even harder. 

They were silent for several minutes, the only noise her gasps and a low grunt from his throat. The wind kept them cool, running over their bare skin. Beneath the branches they were shaded, the dappled light warming his back pleasantly. There was nothing awkward in their rhythm; when he rose, she followed, and when she dictated a swifter pace, he followed suit, their bodies a mirror of each other. She returned his love bites, leaving a mark near his collarbone that would surely bruise, to which he could only retort by gently taking her nipple between his teeth, just scraping the very edge. 

That the silence would not last was inevitable. Abelas had lived for years in it, but Shiral was mouthy, even after all that had happened to her. She could not resist adding when words were not necessary, even when her mind was wholly occupied and building itself up to something more. 

“Jupalan ma sule banalan in’em, ma tel’rosa’da’din’el.” If Abelas was shocked at her words, he said nothing. Perhaps he had heard it before, in other passionate moments. 

“I accept your challenge,” he responded, though his ability to speak was swiftly lessening. But how could he not say something to ‘I will fuck you until you empty yourself inside of me and can’t orgasm any longer’? The very words brought him ever closer to the point of no return. 

Maybe it was only in this place of loss that they could find each other, could complete the cycle fully. Maybe it was only here that Shiral felt safe enough to cling to him until he had emptied himself, her own muscles tightening and then loosening in a tide of relief. Perhaps these Graves, once proud Marches, where were he felt his losses least, beneath the stony eyes of guardians long past.


End file.
